A long, long time.
Almost a year.
We don’t talk about that, afterwards.
We just lie together on our bed, silent and entangled, looking at each other, his hand on my waist, mine on his chest, both of us absorbing what we’ve just done.
I’m glad that we’ve let it happen.
Relieved.
Now that we have, it comes to me how much I’ve missed it.
Missed him.
And I don’t know what it will mean for us from here. I only know that it feels good, so very good, to be lying in his arms again like this, for now.
His eyes grow heavy.
I feel mine do the same.
‘Please don’t go upstairs tonight,’ he says, bringing me back from the brink of unconsciousness. ‘I won’t sleep if I think you might. I need to sleep … ’
‘I know you do.’ He’s been awake for the best part of forty-eight hours. ‘I won’t go up.’
‘You’ve told me that before.’
‘I won’t go. I promise.’
This time, I keep my word.
Rousing myself just long enough to swallow the painkillers I’ve been prescribed, I fall asleep easily, and, for once, feel no pull to the attic.
Perhaps, because I want to be where I am.
Or maybe because the painkillers are really strong.
Regardless, I wake only once before dawn, stirred by Nick’s movement as he sits up, checking his phone. I blink,registering his blue-lit frown, then, groggily, drift back to sleep.
‘What were you looking at last night?’ I ask him, when, at six, his alarm goes off.
‘When?’ he asks, dragging himself up to sitting, looking back at me from the edge of the bed.
‘I don’t know. You were on your phone.’
‘Was I?’
‘Yes.’
He shrugs. ‘I guess I was checking the time.’
‘You don’t remember?’
‘No.’ His brow furrows. ‘Kind of.’ Flexing his shoulders, he stretches, then stands. ‘I was pretty out of it.’
He seems sincere.
But then, he is an excellent actor.
